MythMaking
by wowsugarpuss
Summary: Logan makes myths for Hannah.


**myth-making** P Pronunciation Key (m th-m king)  
_n._  
1. Concocting of fiction or half-truths.

***

Logan swings his hand temptingly close to Hannah's, a faint bloom of warmth growing between them with the light friction. He's still smiling. He used to smile all the time and recently he hasn't done that. Even if it's pretending with Hannah, it is still easier than glaring down the masses every day.

Dick lounges back almost obscenely against the slushie machine, idly flicking a switch on and off in boredom. The slight shadows from the paper sign flicker across his features and he sighs deeply before noticing Logan.

"Logan!" he cries. Dick straightens instantly, his arms raised in enthusiastic greeting.

He nods in acknowledgement. "Dick."

"And who's this fine, young lady accompanying you?"

Dick's inquiry brings Logan's attention back to the willowy blonde hiding behind his shoulder. Her bangs curtain the delicate pale of her face, light flutters of gold shifting across her eyes changeably.

"Hi," she smiles a little shyly, "I'm Hannah."

"Hi, Hannah," Dick leers.

"Dude, shut up," he snaps at the blatantly sexual once over streaming from Dick's eyes. Logan turns to Hannah with an aside, "Told you he was all about the royals."

"What, man?" Dick's eyes widen in offence. "Oh. What can I get you pair?"

"Two of the blue," Logan requests, quirking his mouth warmly. Hannah's mouth drops open in protest, as if she is about to challenge his choice and his audacity at ordering for her. She doesn't. Just tilts her chin up and twitches her mouth to the same effect as rolling her eyes.

"Coming right up," Dick assures with flair.

Logan refuses to take the bait that Hannah's defiant stance offers. He smiles back as he transfers the plastic cup of icy blue goo from Dick to Hannah.

***

Speckled sunshine splashes at them through the shadowing amusements. Drink in hand they wander, side by side, through the weaving street (constructed just for today). Hannah pulls a sip of the icy blue water through her straw, turning to Logan contemplatively.

"So, is it just leap frogs or are you that good at all these games?" she asks with a smile tinting the words.

Her fingers unconsciously grasp the little pink bunny tighter as she speaks.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he smirks. "What about you, Princess? Got any hidden talents?"

She shrugs. It's a quick bounce of her shoulders that sends her hair flying. "I could kick your ass."

"That sounds like a challenge to me," he dares.

Spinning on his heel, Logan steals another pinch of cotton candy from her stick as he points toward another tent. "Show me what you got."

A warm affirmative sound issues from between her closed lips, "Hm."

She nods in preparation, a quick, stuttered burst of speed issuing her forward to follow him. Surveying his choice, Hannah rolls her eyes, mouth caught open.

"That's cheating," she quickly decides.

Logan shrugs happily, "In case you've forgotten there were no rules, Princess."

"But…" she starts.

Looking above her, the flashing neon numbers zoom up and down the giant strip. She looks down to where a large hammer sits by its side and sighs.

"This isn't fair," she reminds Logan as they approach.

"A test of strength," Logan parodies. His grin is warm and provoking. "Use your inner-strength. _Believe_ in yourself."

Hannah passes her ticket to the junior by the stall and moves to lift the hammer he offers her, determination washing over her face. Aided by gravity, she plummets the metal down toward the plate. A resounding clang sends a tiny blip shooting up the measurements. It reaches almost half-way before free-falling back to her.

Logan's face crinkles in amusement as he gives her a thumbs up. Hannah once again sets her mouth in determination. Before she resumes her task she throws over her shoulder, "I could just go find my friends."

Logan doesn't seem worried as he slings back casually, "You wouldn't be having this much _fun_ though."

She sends the hammer down to the plate once more, the blip moving even less. Letting the hammer drop between her feet she shakes out her arms, distaste pasted across her features.

"I don't think I'll be able to use my arms tomorrow."

"I promise to carry your books for you Monday, if they still don't work," he offers.

"That seems kinda boyfriendly," she warns.

"Maybe I'm just a gentleman," he grins down at her.

Hannah eyes him suspiciously; trying not to laugh at the coy expression Logan offers her. It should be funny but the way his gaze is trained on her heats up Hannah from the inside. She takes a small breath against the feelings that he's building. Taking a step back to break the tension she changes the subject abruptly. "You know, it's not a competition if you don't take part."

"Right you are, Princess," he grins. Logan hands back the fluffy pink rag of a rabbit and reaches out to take the hammer from between her soft hands.

***

Hannah shoves his arm with the flat of her palm, a flaccid little punch accompanied by light, breathy laughter. "You're such a loser."

"Hey, you're going to give me a complex. I happen to believe that it's a game of great skill and beauty."

"Ring toss?"

"Yes, _ring toss_."

"Doesn't that require, like, hand-eye-coordination?" she asks smartly.

"I'm very good with my hands," Logan teases. He wiggles his fingers in front of her, amping up Hannah's laughter.

"And your eyes?" she prompts, giving his outfit a judgmental once over. It's all for show, but he pouts as if hurt by her silent critique.

"No doubting my taste," he tells her.

Hannah cocks her head to the side, lips pressing together wryly. "Why?"

Logan smiles slowly, calculating. "'Cause I'm about to ask you out, and you really shouldn't be getting all down on yourself."

"Oh." Hannah stops suddenly, turning to look at him. Her eyes are bright and wide. Hannah thinks her hands are trembling a little. Quietly she clutches them to the waistband of her jeans.

"Yeah," Logan leans down to her, temptingly close to Hannah's face, "so what're you doing Saturday?"

She smiles shyly, ducking her face away. "Nothing," she admits, playing straight into his hands. A warm feeling spreads through her at his attention, a thrumming in her chest that Hannah can't ever remember feeling before. Logan stares at her intently, all calm focus and unnerving gaze.

"You wanna go out?" he asks with a careless grin.

"I'd like that," she grins. Her gaze keeps fluttering from between his eyes to the ground as red flushes through her system. Logan nods, his shoulder brushing hers and they walk on.

***

A bleached twilight washes across the sky, bringing down the temperature. Logan's hands are stuffed in his pockets and Hannah curls her fingers inside her palms to warm them. "Hey, you cold?" he asks nudging her lightly with his shoulder.

"A little," she admits. Digging in the pockets of her body-warmer, Hannah finally procures a pair of plain cream gloves and slips them on quickly. "There!" she exclaims.

"You're so _prepared_," Logan teases. His eyebrow quirks when her hand appears once more, this time a matching hat gathered up in her fingers. "You really are prepared," he pauses a moment, "were you a girl scout?"

Hannah laughs, "I was, but I'll bet you weren't." She smoothes down her hair hastily, pulling the knitted cap over her head as Logan watches.

His smile is easy. "And you know I was just heart-broken they wouldn't let me wear that little green pinafore."

Her laugh is shocked and spontaneous, pretty and high. It appears out of nowhere, leaving her chest un-vibrated. Logan can't help but let his lips stain into a small, wry smile at the sound.

His hand drifts out of its own accord, touching the edge of the hat—near her eye—delicately before he draws it back. They are facing each other now and the air feels thick around them. Without speaking they turn to face front again, resuming their stroll. The tarmac beneath their feet looks wet and sticky, pools of dew settling in the cracks. The chill breeze of night time swirls between them and the last vestiges of light seep from the sky, leaving the carnival lights brilliant.

"It's getting late…" Hannah trails off.

Logan looks up, his eyes trailing the pretty pink flush of her face. "You got a ride?"

She nods shyly, an edge of enthusiasm buried in every movement. "Yeah, I'm supposed to wait in the parking lot."

"I'll walk you," he cuts in before she can argue.

***

The soft spread is a warm lilac, clashing horribly with the little pink bunny (Hannah or Logan depending on whose it really is). But she leaves it by her pillow anyway, cushioned against a pair of crumpled candy-stripe pajamas.

Her cell phone rings and Hannah lets herself fall backwards with a dull thud, the mattress catching her. She brings the receiver to her ear. "Hello?"

The voice that sounds through the line is tinny and artificial. She wouldn't recognize it if not for the call's expected nature and the obnoxious content. She grins impatiently at the nickname offered to her. "Hi, Princess, guess who."

"Ahh," she hesitates, awkward amusement sounding throughout her tone. "Hi." Hannah lets herself lie back on the coverlet, neat fingernails picking at any invisible threads. She swallows, unable—although the telephone prevents it being a necessity—to falter in the smile spread across her mouth.

"Hi," he replies, smile in his voice. "So, I called." Logan sounds light, airy. His voice contrasts with the streaks of grey darting through the dark air. Shadows shift and spill across the room and his voice is warm in her ear even without breath.

"I see."

"You do, because I called," he affirms. There's an amount of pride in his voice. "So now you see I'm a man of my word."

"Very impressive," she agrees. Hannah nods to herself quietly. "So where are you taking me on Saturday?"

"It's a surprise, Princess."

"Huh. You're not going to tell me?" she asks, a pout running through her tone. "But how will I know what to wear?"

"It doesn't matter what you wear, you'll still look great."

"I might be overdressed… or underdressed," she worries with calmness to her voice. A thick syrup swirls in her stomach at the thought of her date, she can't be too negative about it. Not while the heavy anchor of anticipation is throbbing in her gut.

"If you really want to be underdressed that's fine with me," he jokes.

The words send a blush tingling across her cheeks and Hannah smiles cautiously as she parries back, "I could just wear my bikini."

"I would support that decision."

A rustling sounds in the void beyond her bedroom door, causing Hannah to stiffen suddenly. "That's my parents," she whispers down the line. "I should probably sleep."

"Well, okay, but you have to promise to dream of me."

"And why's that?"

Logan's tone is low when he admits, "'Cause I'll be dreaming of you, Princess."

It stirs up the mess of nerves just beneath her abdomen. Little clenching muscles run up and down her body in an electric-shock domino theory. One after another they tighten in suspense, making her feel sick.

"As long as you're not taking advantage of me before our date," she allows with a small smile that he can't see.

Logan lets the victory wash through his skin as Hannah steps up to the line time and again. She's the last girl in the horror movie. She's answered the phone.

"'Night, Princess," he signs off, trying to ignore the sigh that slips happily from her lungs.

The first rule: never, ever let yourself believe.


End file.
